


Effectual

by ChocolateChipFic (Leigh_B)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Creep Factor is High, F/M, That's Really Not How You Get a Girl's Attention Though...., Yikes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 11:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7313893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leigh_B/pseuds/ChocolateChipFic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, I’ve finally finished the chronological continuation of “The Dread Wolf Has Too Many Eyes.” Here, my friends, is a ficlet that illustrates some serious creepy and potentially conniving aspects of Franken!Solas before he realizes how off-putting Halani considers such attributes to be and goes about attempting to  conceal them from her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Effectual

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Feynite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feynite/gifts).



Lavellan wasn’t sure if it was sleep deprivation or the accumulation of bizarre turns her life had taken, but either way, she was unable to dam up the torrent of words flooding out of her mouth.

“-but, of course, you already know that. Why else would you refer to me as such? Forgive my questioning, but I’m very curious. Are the versions of me always the same? That is to say, do we always look just alike, sound just alike, and go by the same name? What about you? Are there other versions of Fen’Harel? And is it only Fen’Harel? Do you go by Dread Wolf?”

Those last two questions seemed to bring him back. He’d been staring at the girl in her lap, eyes fixated and still unblinking. The fogged glaze evaporated, and Lavellan was left looking into a set of downturned eyes that had become sharp with sudden irritation.

“I am never called ‘Fen’Harel,’” he spit. The disdain in his tone was palpable, though none was portrayed in his aura. Now that she was focused on it, Lavellan realized that he revealed nothing at all through his emotions. He was a rock over there. An unmoving, frightening, deific rock. “That is _not_ who I am.”

 There was silence. Lavellan thought back to the shape he’d taken. Red eyed wolf with a coat made of shadows? Fangs and bulk and incomprehensible magic?  

Seemed an awful lot like the Dread Wolf to her…

 Was she mistaking him for some other deity? A forgotten visage that her people had misconstrued and then amalgamated into the Rebel God? That would be disheartening. Just how many gigantic, magic-wielding, havoc-wreaking wolves were there in existence?

He sighed, shoulders deflating. “I may have, in a past life of sorts, been referred to with that name,” he admitted, sounding resentful. “However, I, _myself_ , have never identified with so petulant a title as ‘Dread Wolf.’”

“So,” Lavellan pressed. “What am I to call you then?”

His facial expressions were rather subdued, not as thoroughly as his verbal and emotional responses, but a gust of surprise huffed against Lavellan. It was written in the crease that formed between his brow and nose as he drew his eyebrows together. It was as though a light flashed behind his stare. His face went rather slack, and plush lips were held slightly agape.  

“You do not recognize this form,” he stated, looking as though some grand conclusion was forming in his mind.

“Not at all,” she confirmed, puzzled by this redundant thinking.

Hadn’t all of this been evident when she’d laughed about his new shape? Why should all of this be significant here, where it wasn’t before? What was he getting at?

“I am Solas,” he said, knitting his brows together more tightly and observing her reaction closely.

“Pride?” she snorted incredulously. “You are named _Pride_ , and yet you mock the Dread Wolf?”

When he did not respond to her comment immediately, instead continuing to search her for some reaction she had yet to give, Lavellan realized that her words may have seemed like a taunt. That was not what she had intended. The last thing that she wanted to do was risk angering this man that could rip the child from her.

It _must_ have been lack of sleep dulling her wits.  

Lavellan shifted uncomfortably, noting that almost all of her fear had been exercised via a babbling mouth. He’d sat calmly, God or not, and politely ignored her as she spouted nonsense. She was calm enough to be aware of her body now, and she recognized the dizzy pulse of low circulation in her legs and backside. She had been sitting on this marble floor for some time, and the girl, while gangly and thin, was heavy to hold in one’s lap for so long.    

“Yes,” he said, after an extensive amount of time.

It had been so long, in fact, that Lavellan was unsure to what he was assenting. It wasn’t until she’d sorted through a few awkward moments of quiet that she understood him to be offering an affirmative answer to her rhetorical quip about names.

“Um… right. Well,” she searched for a way to continue conversing.

It would seem that he felt little need to prompt things along, and she was now extremely anxious about the proper way to communicate with him. He was missing some heavy social cues, though, in her current state, she wasn’t really one to judge.

“It’s good to meet you, Solas,” she said, decisively engaging in proper introductory information. “I am Halani.”

“Halani…” he purred.

The abrupt tonal shift caught her completely unaware, and it derailed her future attempts at polite small talk. Her name rolled off of his tongue, formed low in his throat. His desire arched against her own presence like an insistent pet cat: heated and confident as though they were lovers and not strangers.

She was appalled.

Not only by the potential danger from his interest, but also by the fact that her initial reaction was a sudden welling of attraction toward this presumptuous creature. Her immediate response should have been a focus on the impropriety of pursuing her in such a manner that now sat at the forefront of her mind. Approaching someone so boldly should be saved for particular circumstances, and the meeting of strangers was very rarely one such occasion. Also, there were important matters to discuss in regard to this child she hoped to share with him. Halani rebuffed his audacious move on her a bit callously, passing along a vague whorl of waspy sentiments to illustrate her piqued thoughts on the matter.  

He grasped her offense, relenting his sudden and potent shift in mood with a quirk to one corner of his mouth. The triumphant half-smirk exposed the exaggerated sharpness to his canine and bicuspid teeth. There was something daunting and predatory to him once again, in spite of his lacking a muzzle.

She snorted, a bit breathless and all the more unsure how to pursue conversation. He’d folded back into himself, all pretense of emotional presence gone. Lavellan fell back on the plain talk she’d intended, though it was especially lame with the remnants of their exchange still in the air.

“Aren’t the versions of me always named Halani?”

“No,” he replied. His voice was still too intimate. Too confident. Smug. “You are unique, Halani,” he said, rising to his knees and beginning to approach them, somehow moving with fluidity in spite of kneeling. “Da’vhenan was right in that her affection had been offered to an effectual version of her mother. That is to say, I believe that she chose you well.”

Halani didn’t know what to make of that statement. She did scoot away from his advance and cling more tightly to the girl again. This was all very creepy, and she really did not appreciate that tone of his.

Or the word “effectual.”    


End file.
